Brant's Rant

Motorcycles I will say with all confidence, that if you own a motorcycle (dirtbikes excluded), you are a subpar human. This burgeoning hatred in my soul for the motorized bicycle specifically addresses Harley’s or other large, noisy machines of that ilk, and what are known as “crotch rockets”. Motocross bikes are fine, as long as they are in the bed of your pickup truck on their way to a genuine dirt track or field where I don’t have to see or hear them. On the other hand, if you ride your motocross bike on residential streets, or Christ forbid a freeway, you are amongst the highest order of dipshit.

Three things in particular stoke my fire about the motorcycle. The first is the unnecessarily loud engines that vibrate and echo from the underbelly of a Harley. Specifically, it's the rumbling that sets off car alarms, frightens dogs, and makes everyone in your vicinity abhor you. Many quiet or dramatic movie scenes in our household have been destroyed by these assholes that rumble up to the stop sign outside our home. More often than not, these degenerates and sex offenders will rev the goddamn engine and sit there for 30 seconds, hoping that someone gawks at their annoying motorcycle in adoration. Unfortunately for them, our neighborhood now lacks the skinheads and pedophiles that frequent Harley shops and would appreciate such a machine. Perhaps a noise ordinance campaign should be put in effect.

The second thing that really pisses me off about this sad lot is when the “crotch rocket” hoodlums (who are often high school dropouts and gangbangers) ride their bikes in packs, particularly on crowded downtown streets. Luckily for the normal, law-abiding citizens, the police are often able to pull these packs of kids over, as the coffee and donut shops are conveniently located on the same avenues.

Finally, the weaving. When there is heavy traffic, you, good American, must be extra vigilant, knowing that at any moment a motorcycle could whiz by your car as the maladjusted individual commanding it weaves between cars. This behavior begs for a bloody accident. While it has been so tempting to just open the car door and learn these idiots a valuable lesson, I somehow refrain. I don’t think I’ll ever have it in me to hurt one of them, though I often wish for their injury. I just can’t understand how this idiotic behavior is tolerated.

Public Urination I’m OK with public urination on two conditions: 1) it be done in the secrecy of night, and 2) it be done in an alley in Mexico. Where we live, we have a lot of kids that park their cars on our street, grab their surfboards out of the truck, and run down to the beach. Often they will be gone for a couple hours, but naturally they wait until they get back to their vehicles to evacuate their bladders. Apparently they cannot be bothered with using the public restrooms provided by the city. What really sets me off is when they find it necessary to piss in broad daylight, often on another person’s garage or house (there are precious few grassy areas where we live). When I’m walking by and witness this, I’ve often wanted to stop and piss on their car or truck, just to see their oblivious looks of disgust. Alas, I continue to abstain. Castration is the only fitting form of retribution. I will bring this to the next City Hall meeting.

Vacation When you want to take a few days off of work, perhaps even two weeks, you call it a vacation. Somewhere along the line, possibly in mid to late 2006, it was deemed appropriate to suggest that you were not taking a vacation, but a “vacay”. This abbreviated form of the word is now entrenched in the vocabulary of today’s youth. From what I understand, it may have been popularized in the Will Ferrell film Stranger Than Fiction. I cannot be sure if this was its origin, but I intend on researching the matter further. In any case, the term “vacay” makes the speaker sound pompous, though they may feel they are being witty and ironic. They would be wrong.

This concludes my rant. Thank you for your attention.